


Saviour

by PennyKelly



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Shell Cottage, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-06-12 21:10:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15348792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PennyKelly/pseuds/PennyKelly
Summary: Hermione is starting over at twenty-five. When her relationship with Ron fails she moves to the seaside where she can find herself again. Enter George Weasley, desperately trying to escape the spectre of who he was when Fred was alive and embrace the person he is on his own. To save each other they need to save themselves.





	1. If This Isn't Love

**Author's Note:**

> AN: As with most of my fics, chapter titles will often come from song titles or lyrics. Both the title for this fic and the chapter one title are from the Rise Against Song Savior. My plan is to update this fic every Monday. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own or profit from Harry Potter or its related properties.

******If This Isn’t Love**

 

Hermione falls in love with broken people. It’s a thing she does. A thing she’s always done. She can’t really explain how or why it happens, but it does. As much as she prefers things to be neat and tidy, she likes her people (and relationships) messy.

 

She collects broken people. It’s a thing she does. A thing she’s always done. She loves each in their own way- as family, as friends, as mentors, as mentees. And, occasionally, as lovers. She likes to try and piece people back together. She doesn’t know why.

 

Hermione is a broken person. It’s a thing she is. A thing she always has been. She has never truly felt like all her pieces fit together the way they are supposed to. Her scars make more sense to her than the unblemished parts of her skin. The imperfect bits match how she feels on the inside. She found herself searching for someone with compatible damage to hers. Once she thought she had found that someone, but she’d been wrong.

 

It absolutely killed her to know that as much as she had claimed to have forgotten the colour of his eyes, they were burned into her memory in stunning shades of blue flecked with the slightest greys. It tore her apart to feign surprise at the revelation of each scar she’d memorised on his skin each time he revealed a new one to his family. It broke her heart over and over again to see the wrinkles begin at the corners of his eyes and know that tears did not slide down his imperfect face the way they slid down hers every time she recalled a time when he had been hers. It killed and it hurt and it was hard. And she couldn’t forget. She couldn’t forget a single night, even all these years on. She had thought they balanced each other, but she’d been wrong. They simply had not worked, she could see that now, even if she hadn’t seen it then.

 

It had been a messy break. No chance of reconciliation and no time to pinpoint exactly how things had gone so spectacularly wrong. There was never enough time for anything that could have saved them. No precious seconds to give. So they’d fallen apart. And they’d failed one another, each in their own way. And they’d built wall after wall the other couldn’t break through until the relationship they’d once had all but disappeared.

 

It had been messy. It wasn’t love they’d been feeling, but something not dissimilar. They’d been too young to know how to escape the hell they’d put themselves in. One morning there had suddenly been clarity. She did not love Ron and he did not love her. And they never had, at least not in the way they thought they had. Friends yes, but not as lovers. They’d been trying to save each other, but it wasn’t clear from what. They couldn’t find answers in themselves, so they’d looked to each other, only to find more confusion and questions. Never any answers. So they’d parted ways in a hurricane of quiet tears, neither of them left with enough passion to truly try to fight one another, not for something neither of them wanted anymore. They talked late into the night, morning breaking with the crushing weight of lies revealed. It was as if they’d woken up from a hazy dream they’d been living in for far too long. And that was that. The life she’d known since leaving Hogwarts was no more and she found herself starting over at twenty-five, just when most everyone else around her was firmly establishing who they’d be for the rest of their lives. And even though she didn’t love him in that way anyway and hadn’t for some time, she could still remember the first few months of their relationship and how wonderful it had been before they had to learn to live with one another for real and not just with the ideas of each other.

 

The conversation had not devolved into screaming the way she had initially thought it would. He’d been calm and measured, something out of character for him and made more evident by the resigned way in which he admitted he didn’t love her anymore and, perhaps, never had. The way he’d told her was kinder and more thought out than she would have expected from him. As much as he’d grown up, she couldn’t let go of who he’d been in school and maybe that was part of the problem. The messiness had come later when they’d had to split up their belongings and decided who kept the flat that was in both their names. Ultimately, she’d decided she couldn’t live in the memories and she’d packed her things and left. She wasn’t all that surprised when several weeks later Harry informed her that Ron was subletting the flat, unable to live with the ghost of their failed relationship.

 

She didn’t hate him. She couldn’t. She knew he thought she did because she found herself unable to be in the same room as him or respond to his attempts to remain friends. She knew it put a strain on Harry, but she couldn’t pretend anymore. She didn’t hate Ron. She hated herself. She hated that she’d stayed so long with someone who was so very obviously not suited to her. She hated that she hadn’t loved herself enough to admit the relationship had been over for a long time. It took him admitting he’d started to have feelings for someone else, feelings that he was struggling to ignore. He’d never betrayed her. She believed him when he said he’d never cheated even though he’d been tempted to. It still felt like a lie to her. Mostly because they’d continued to have sex for months after he realised he didn’t love her anymore. It made her feel slightly used, though she knew that wasn’t entirely fair. She’d instigated sex just as often as he had. She hated herself for it. She should have left, but she hadn’t. And that was why she couldn’t hate him, because she could have prevented her own heartache if she’d only been paying attention.

 

Now she found herself sitting alone on the beach with her bare toes buried in the sand, wondering how exactly she’d ended up here. She’d packed everything and moved not too far from Shell Cottage, having decided a change of scenery was definitely in order. The eldest Weasley brother and his wife hosted her fairly often and called upon her to babysit whenever they didn’t want to disturb Molly. It kept her fairly well connected to the goings on back in London. Bill didn’t mind keeping her abreast of any interesting news or gossip he picked up from Gringotts or his occasional lunches at the Ministry with Percy. She’d taken an extended sabbatical from her own Ministry work to focus on personal writings, having picked up the creative endeavour to help deal with her stress after the war. What had started as a small side project had developed into its own full time undertaking the more time she spent away. She wasn’t sure if she’d ever return. She didn’t exactly need the money and she’d been so tired of politics and long hours when she’d put in her request for temporary leave. She was meant to return by the end of the summer, which was still several months off, or resign her position.

 

It wasn’t that she’d disliked working in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, it was actually quite the opposite, it was the politics of it all she found absolutely exhausting. She’d spent all of school and the war fighting people and she didn’t want to do it anymore. She hadn’t wanted to fight with anyone so badly that she often didn’t tell Ron when she was angry because she simply just didn’t want to deal with it. Especially not after spending hours of each day debating in meetings about the rights of various magical creatures. When things were going well she absolutely loved speaking to people and creatures from all backgrounds to inform her policy initiatives. There was still so much ignorance within the Ministry itself, however, that she often felt she was beating her head against a wall. She tired of the people around her quickly, not wanting to speak to anyone for days at a time outside of work if it could be avoided.

 

She’d hermited herself away, for the most part, preferring the solitude of her little cottage and her writing over the bustling social lives of her friends and chosen family. Aside from her need to recharge, her separation from everyone was partially because so much of her life had been built around Ron’s and she’d never quite figured out how she related to his family and their shared friends now. While Harry and Ginny had, thankfully, not taken sides in what had been a mostly uncontentious split, some of their friends definitely had. Neville didn’t seem to know how to talk to her now, despite the fact that she’d been his friend before Ron, and that made her interactions with Hannah a bit strained. Luna was just as spacey as she’d ever been, though she didn’t play favourites with them and she appreciated it. For the most part, the Weasleys had taken the split well, though Molly had cooled to her when it became clear she was not likely to ever marry into the family. She was amused to still receive the occasional owl from Percy keeping her in the loop both on work matters and office gossip she might find interesting. She didn’t have the heart to tell him that most of his stories she’d already gotten from The Daily Prophet or from Bill.

 

George, in particular, had surprised her when he’d started writing her with increasing frequency. She’d never noticed how often the two of them had spoken following Fred’s death until the first owl had arrived with a letter asking after her. They had been sporadic at first and read very much like an awkward conversation at a party might sound. Not totally unlike the seemingly mundane conversations they’d had at family parties. When he’d taken to drinking heavily for a time after Fred’s death, he’d occasionally corner her at family parties to gush about how much he admired her brain. On one memorable occasion, he’d gone on at length about how beautiful he found her hair. She hadn’t believed him and the whole episode had upset Ron, but she remembered it with some fondness. He’d seemed so sincere that she nearly believed him.

 

Over time, the letters had become much more frequent and relaxed. She’d been surprised to find that George was quite the reader, making recommendations and sending her clips of magazine articles he’d found interesting when something caught his eye. She couldn’t remember ever having seen him pick up a book at school unless forced, but maybe reading for leisure was different than reading for school work. To her, the two were often the same thing, though she supposed they probably wouldn’t be to him. His appreciation for plays had been the most surprising. She’d thought his references to Shakespeare had been accidental at first until he’d commented that her owl was named for the same play she was. After that, they’d often discussed The Bard in their correspondence.

 

She was folding and unfolding the most recent missive as she stared out over the water. Instead of offering his usual updates and reviews, he’d asked about coming to see her.

 

She had not expected it. While their writing had definitely increased over the last few weeks they didn’t generally speak when they saw each other in person. She occasionally still attended Sunday lunches at The Burrow, but usually only when she knew Ron wouldn’t be there. Usually, she’d get a polite greeting from George, but they didn’t get many chances to speak alone. Now that he was long out of the habit of getting blotto at family gatherings she was no longer finding herself cornered in the kitchen by his enthusiastic storytelling.

 

She worried at her bottom lip as she rolled over the possibilities in her head. It could be that he did actually want to speak to her, but found it difficult under the judging eyes of their friends and family. It could be that he was checking up on her for Molly or Ginny and wanted to be able to report back that he’d seen where she lived and it wasn’t the hovel they feared. It could be that he just needed to get out of London and away from family. She was the furthest out of the way of his acquaintances while still being close enough to family that his mum wouldn’t worry. That must be it she decided, letting the sand sift through her toes one last time before sighing heavily and making her way back to her cottage. If what he needed was a break far away from things, that was certainly something she could provide for her friend.

 

In the months she’d lived in her little cottage by the sea, no one had been inside her home. Whenever she saw Bill, Fleur, and baby Victoire she’d always done so at Shell Cottage. She’d very intentionally kept people away so that this place could be just hers, unready to share the space with anyone else. Ginny, in particular, had been concerned about this and spent a good deal of time badgering Harry about it if his letters were to be believed. Bill’s occasional mention of his mum’s confusion about her lack of entertaining there told her that Ginny was also complaining to her about it. Part of her very much wanted to see George. They’d written so often that she could almost hear his voice in her head when she read his messages now and she was itching to speak in person.

 

Some days they might send ten or more notes in a row. She was grateful he used a different shop owl with each additional letter so they didn’t wear out her own owl, Emilia. She resolved to allow him the visit if only to satiate her curiosity as to why he suddenly wanted to see her in person. And, deep down, so she could hear his voice for real and not just in her head.

 

She sent Emilia off with the note and set about cleaning her little home. It didn’t exactly need it, she was almost obsessively neat since moving out of the flat she’d shared with Ron. He had been such a slob that she was determined to keep her new home as spotless as possible. Besides the occasional toy mouse, Crookshanks’ favourite source of amusement, in a walkway or tucked under a random piece of furniture everything was almost always in order.

 

She checked the guest room, opening the French doors to let in fresh air and sunlight to combat the stale smell that came with the disused room. At one time she’d thought about just using the space as an office, but deep down she knew she’d eventually want to have someone to stay for a time and had decided to keep it a bedroom in the end. Unlike Shell Cottage, which opened directly onto the beach, the French doors off each bedroom opened onto a back deck with a set of steps down to the sand. She liked the slightly higher vantage point and had set up a hammock where she could read or nap in the ocean air when she didn’t feel like going down to the beach. She hoped that any guests might like the little setup and find it as relaxing as she did.

 

She smiled to herself as she remembered the state the house had been in when she purchased it. The real estate agent had almost refused to show it to her, wanting to show her much nicer properties that better fit her supposed status. What the agent had not seen in the little cottage that Hermione noted immediately was its potential for eventual expansion. The current footprint included two bedrooms, two baths, a kitchen, a small entryway, and a large living room. For the time being, that was all she needed. She liked the idea that a second floor could be fairly easily added. She’d always liked the oddly patched together look of The Burrow and the way it seemed to have grown with the Weasley family. That was something she wanted to have someday for herself, a home that grew along with her needs. With just her and Crookshanks at the moment, the small space was all she needed. Even with adding George for a few nights there should still be enough room for everyone without feeling like they were right on top of one another.

 

Since she’d opted not to have an office she usually spread her writing across her coffee table and listened to the wireless as she worked. She hoped that it wouldn’t bother him too much. She’d been on a roll lately and didn’t want to set her projects aside while he was visiting. There wasn’t much to do in the surrounding area, though she assumed he’d want to visit with his family at least once while he was there. Otherwise, she hoped quiet company and access to the beach would be enough. She herself didn’t often swim, but she knew he enjoyed it and thought he might get to make good use of the upcoming warmer weather. Before she could dwell too much on the thought of George in swim trunks, Emilia returned. She sat down in the hammock and read the surprisingly long piece of parchment. She laughed a bit to herself when she realised it was mostly a barrage of questions of what he should bring and if she minded if they went round to have dinner one evening with Bill and Fleur as he hadn’t seen them in several weeks.

 

“Right then, Crookshanks looks like it’s settled. We’re going to have a visitor over the long weekend. George is going to come to stay with us after he’s off work tomorrow.” She explained to the cat that was now sunning himself on the deck. He twitched his tail slightly but otherwise didn’t seem to acknowledge her announcement.

 

She summoned her writing supplies and scratched out answers to his questions, narrating for Crookshanks all the while.

 

“I think I may be going mad, Emilia.” She sighed as she tied the reply to the tawny owl’s leg and offered her a few owl treats from her pockets. With as much letter writing as she did now, she was always sure to have some on hand.

 

“Though I suppose speaking to an owl is about as mad as speaking to a cat…” she laughed nervously at herself as she turned to busy herself with cleaning her already clean home in anticipation of her friend’s arrival.

  
  
****


	2. Weightless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Wow! I didn’t expect people to pick up on this one so quickly. Thank you so much for following, favoriting, and/or reviewing! I’m traveling at the moment so updates might be a couple hours later than usual the next few weeks. Title from All Time Low.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own or profit from Harry Potter or its related properties.

 

**Weightless**

Hermione stood in front of her stove with her hands fisted on her hips. It was not often that she would admit to being bested, but this was turning out to be one of those challenges she couldn’t quite overcome. She had hoped to make dinner for both George and herself, but her attempts thus far had not gone overly well. If the smouldering pans of what was supposed to be curry were any indication, she should not be stretching out of her culinary comfort zone. At least, not without supervision. She wasn’t sure what, exactly, had gone wrong. She did know curry was not supposed to turn black and smoke, and it had happened with both attempts. At this point, she was out of chicken and didn’t think what she had was salvageable. She hadn’t taken well to cooking by magical means, though her Muggle attempts weren’t much better.

She poked around her fridge and pantry a bit, hoping something might jump out at her as a solution to her lack of dinner for her guest. It was at that point that she realised she had not gone grocery shopping in anticipation of his arrival. What she had done was spend three hours picking out an outfit, styling her hair, and putting on makeup. Things she hadn’t even done very often for an actual boyfriend, let alone someone she wasn’t even sure was interested in her. At that particular moment, she was feeling rather foolish for the way in which she’d spent her time.

She checked the clock on the wall and worried her bottom lip in thought. She didn’t have enough time to pop in on Bill and Fleur and ask for help. She was either going to have to attempt something utilising only the contents of her meagre cupboards or admit defeat and treat the man to dinner out. She thought this might be some sort of punishment from the universe for trying to do something out of her routine by attempting hot food that wasn’t heated out of a tin. Part of her secretly had wanted to impress George, though she couldn’t pin down where the feeling was coming from. She’d never tried this hard with him before, not even in her letters when she easily could have embellished or lied about what was going on with her. Now she had to figure out whether to admit to what had happened or if she should just bustle him out the door immediately as if that had been the plan all along.

With less than thirty minutes to spare, she needed to make a decision and get the mess cleaned up before he got there. She cranked the volume on her wireless and went to town cleaning the kitchen for the fourth time in two days. Not that the whole kitchen needed it, of course, it was just how she always ended up dealing with stress. She preferred scrubbing via Muggle means, rolling up her cardigan sleeves and diving into the two scorched pans with enthusiasm. Paying no mind to the fact that she had agonised over selecting the blue dress she was now wearing and the lacy cardigan over the top of it and that they would not be improved by the addition of dirty dishwater.

She did not hear George come through the floo. In fact, she’d been singing along at the top of her lungs to a Weird Sisters song she’d turned up much too loud. She nearly jumped out of her skin when he tapped her shoulder and said her name. She sent soap bubbles into the air like a bad cartoon, flinging some into her own face and onto his clothes.

“Oh! George, I’m so sorry! I must have lost track of time and…” she fumbled to summon a clean towel to her and try to get the soap off the front of his sports coat.

“It’s alright, Hermione. Suppose I’m just lucky you didn’t jinx me.” He laughed heartily at her flustered expression and wrapped her in a bear hug, lifting her off the floor and ignoring her squeak of protest.  

“There was a bit of a mishap with dinner. Things didn’t exactly go to plan,” She cleared her throat as she cleaned the soap off herself and finished cleaning the pans with a flick of her wand.

“Ah. Well, that probably explains the burning smell in here. What do you say we leave this place to air out a bit and I’ll take you to dinner?” George suggested, leaning against the counter and appraising the state of things. She could feel the way his eyes slid over her when she turned to put the pans up, she fought the urge to blush at the attention. Isn’t that why she’d dressed up? So he would notice her?

“I was going to treat you since I had promised dinner…” she protested.

“You’ll do no such thing. If mum finds out I let you buy dinner she’ll have my hide.”

“Is your mum really so old-fashioned?” She crossed her arms with a look of disbelief.

“Hermione, you don’t know the half of it… if mum even knew I was here she’d have a fit.” George sighed with an exaggerated slump of his shoulders.

“Why on earth would it bother her that you’re staying here?” She was taken aback by the statement. Surely after all this time, Molly didn’t worry about her children being alone with her, did she?

“Because, as much as she treats you like a daughter, you are not family and we’re not married. She prefers to believe that all of us are virgins or stayed that way until marriage…” George chuckled lightly with a roll of his eyes.

“She can’t possibly think that any of you are virgins anymore. Wasn’t she the one that taught Ginny to brew her own contraceptive potion?” It was all Hermione could do not to burst into laughter. She could remember losing her own virginity in the Burrow, she imagined at least a few of her sons had.

“That, surprisingly, was Charlie. At dad’s urging actually, he’s not nearly so delusional about the exploits of his children. Though, he has walked in on most of us at some point or another…” he trailed off with a smirk as he recalled Arthur stumbling in on him one afternoon with an old girlfriend.

“You’re poor father. If Ron is any indication none of you has particularly attractive backsides…” Hermione teased.

“Oi! I’ll have you know I have a gorgeous backside. Many a bird has said as much!” The mock hurt in his voice nearly doubled her over with laughter, he was quite the exaggerator.

“And how much did you pay them for that lovely compliment?” Hermione swept passed him and out into the hall where he’d left his case, carrying it down to the guest room.

“Not a thing. And since when are you so flippant about sex? Aren’t you supposed to be miss decorum? I seem to remember a certain prefect who was particularly snotty about catching me in a broom cupboard...” He followed after her, trying and failing to take the case from her.

“A lot has changed since school, George. As I’m sure you’ve undoubtedly noticed,” she turned to him and set her hands on her hips.

“You could say that, yeah…” George stared at her appreciatively, noticing the way she’d grown since they were children.

Hermione’s cheeks flamed, she busied herself by showing George the room and the back deck, trying to ignore the feel of his eyes following her. She was stopped at the rail that surrounded the deck when she felt him step closer to her, sending a shiver of anticipation through her body.

“You’re gorgeous, you know that?” He leaned in to whisper in her ear.

“I… thank you.” She swallowed hard in response, feeling her cheeks flush again as the energy in the air around them changing perceptively.

“Wanted to tell you for the longest time, but after Ron… I didn’t know how’d you take it,” he admitted, tentatively taking a small step even closer to her.

“Oh.” She resisted the urge to turn around, afraid this was some sort of joke, suddenly very aware of how close he was and the heat rolling off his body.

“Holy shite!” George suddenly cried, breaking the tension of the moment.

“George? What’s wrong?” Hermione spun around to find that Crookshanks had landed in his arms, likely from his favoured sunning spot on the roof, and taken him by surprise.

“Crookshanks!” She scolded, trying hard not to look too relieved at the animal’s rude interruption.

“Where do I put him?” George looked horrified, trying to hold the large, unhappy animal slightly away from himself.

“On the ground is fine. I’m so sorry! I don’t know why he did that…” she continued to scold the animal as they made their way back inside.

The moment lost, she finished his quick tour of the house and waited patiently for him to change out of his work suit into something a little more comfortable.

In a few moments time, she was leading him back to the floo, pointedly not addressing what had just happened on the deck except to apologise repeatedly for her cat. He looked embarrassed, but she couldn’t tell if it was the moment they’d almost shared or the behaviour of her beast that had set him off. She couldn’t help but notice how cute he looked when he was out of sorts.

They came through into the waiting area of a cosy looking Italian restaurant not long after, both still a little shy. Something she didn’t think she’d ever see in a Weasley twin. After they’d been seated and the server brought them a couple glasses of wine they started to settle again.

“George, may I ask you something that might seem a bit rude?” Hermione chewed her inner lip as she stared at the man seated across from her.

“Of course,” his eyebrows jumped slightly at the sudden question. She tried to hide the smirk when she saw his brown eyes flash with worry for the briefest moment. She liked that she unsettled him as much as he did her.

“Why did you start writing me? I know we’ve mostly got on, but I didn’t think you’d care much about where I’d gone or how I was…” She trailed off, overwhelmed with all the thoughts she’d harboured for weeks about his intentions, especially so the last twenty-four hours.

“At first I thought it was just the friendly thing to do. I knew you were having a tough time of it, and I’ve always liked you. Even when you’d chase after us at school, I’ve always been very fond of you.” He swallowed a sip of wine, seemingly nervous about his answer.

“And then?” She pressed, taking a sip from her own glass.

“Well, I realised how much you and I really have in common. You’ve read almost as much as I have on ancient charms and transfiguration and you’re one of the only people that know I’ve read Lord Byron’s entire works… or that I’m fond of poetry in general. When I sent you those first clippings I thought for certain you’d think I was a total tosser, but you read the books and told me what you thought…” his eyes crinkled slightly as he recalled the memory, making her smile softly in response.

“Why would I have thought you were a tosser for sending me a book review? You know I like to read, and you obviously enjoyed those titles…” Hermione was honestly perplexed at the thought.

“When I would send things like that to Angelina she always thought I was chastising her for not reading more. She was always more into Fred anyway, never noticed that I was much more bookish than he was…”

“I didn’t notice at first either. But, when I thought back on it, I do remember you being the quieter of the two of you. Like you were in your own thoughts most of the time,” she cocked her head to the side as she considered him. He was not the teenage boy she’d secretly harboured a bit of a crush on back at school, he was a grown man.

“I was. It was fine by me to let Fred me the loud one, so long as he gave me a bit of quiet to read when the time came,” he shrugged with a sad little smile.

“You started writing to me to be polite, then? But you kept on because we both like to read?”

“Not just because of that. The more I’ve gotten to know you, the more I like you. I’m not getting any younger, I didn’t want to let you slip away just because you’d moved. I didn’t want to waste any more time wondering if maybe... Look, losing Fred… it changed the way I see things. I don’t want to pretend like I have all the time in the world when I don’t. None of us does,” he stared pointedly down at the table as she absorbed his words.

She observed him for a few moments, unsure of how to respond. She noted the bags under his eyes where it was clear he still wasn’t sleeping well. She took in the way he was starting to show signs of laugh lines and the streaks of grey starting near his temples. When he started to fidget nervously with his silverware she reached over and set her hand gently over the top of his.

“I understand. It feels like as we’ve gotten older that maybe we’ve somehow gotten closer, but at a distance. Does that make sense?” She laughed a little at herself, thinking herself mad for the thought.

“It makes perfect sense to me. You never avoided me at family functions, even when I was drinking heavily. Even when you and Ron split, you still always had a smile for me. Somehow, we’ve ended up closer even though we see each other less.” He shrugged half-heartedly.

“Is that why you wanted to come for a visit?” She perked slightly at the thought that maybe he had missed her.

“Partially. I also wanted to see if maybe what I was feeling from your letters… if maybe I would feel that way in person too.” His ears pinked slightly at the tips, catching her by surprise.

“George, do you fancy me?” She couldn’t help but smile despite the surprise in her voice, realising that the feeling she felt rolling off of him earlier hadn’t been misread.

“I think I might be starting to, yeah. Is that alright?” He swallowed nervously, barely able to make eye contact.

“I’d say so. I’ve been wondering the same thing, honestly…”

“Yeah?” he smiled wide, the old sparkle coming back to his eyes for a moment.

 

“Yes.”  She smiled back at him with a slight blush, their conversation being interrupted by the server delivering their meals to the table.


	3. Kiss Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I’m still dealing with inconsistent internet. Apologies! Title from Ed Sheeran.
> 
>  
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own or profit from Harry Potter or its related properties.

 

 

**Kiss Me**

  


“Do you think you might fancy a walk along the water? Or do you get enough of that now that you live out here?” George suggested when they’d returned to the cottage.

 

“No, no, I quite like it still. Do you like to go walking?” She asked as she gathered a heavier jumper from the coat rack and opened a tin of food for Crookshanks.

 

“Sometimes, yeah. Especially when I want to have a bit of a think.” He slipped his hands in his pockets and leaned against the counter as the cat investigated him before accepting dinner from his mistress.

 

“Do you need a bit of a think?” She looked at him over her shoulder with a little smile that made his heart stutter.

 

“I’m not sure. I think really I’d just like some company while I walk, more often than not I go alone back home. Would be nice to tell you things as they come to mind instead of waiting until the next day as well.” He gave a nervous little laugh.

 

“What do you mean?” She turned to him fully now, face confused.

 

“I don’t want to bombard you with owls at night, so I wait until morning to send them…” he shrugged as if it was the most obvious thing in a world, which is some small way she supposed it was.

 

“George… do you really?” She gave a little laugh as she beckoned for him to follow her back toward the guest room. She set Emilia out to hunt and carefully shut and locked the french doors behind them.

 

“Yes? Why is that so funny?” He was bewildered by her reaction.

 

“I’m up most all hours these days. Not much of a sleeper, really…” she explained as she kicked off her trainers and socks, taking the time to carefully roll the cuffs on her jeans.

 

He followed suit, sitting down next to her on the deck and laying his things beside hers. By the time he’d finished, he had to jog slightly to catch up with her again.

 

“Why don’t you sleep much?” He asked, sliding his hands back into his pockets as he reached her side.

 

“I don’t think I ever relearned how, if I’m honest. We slept in shifts when we were on the run. Ron and Harry had trouble readjusting too. I’m not sure how they’ve accomplished getting a normal routine back. I haven’t been able to.” A frown pulled at her lips that shot a zing of sadness through his entire person.

 

“I don’t sleep much either. Not since Fred died. The drink helped for a while, but that wasn’t sustainable.” He admitted with a long sigh.

 

“I can’t imagine how hard it has been for you.” She said quietly, lacing an arm carefully through his with a little comforting squeeze.

 

“It’s not been an easy thing by any definition. Sometimes it feels like I’m missing half my personality. We were two halves to one whole, and now…” he shook his head sadly, trying to get the memories out.

 

“George, you know you’re a full person, don’t you? You and Fred were separate people.” She stopped him in the sand, waiting for him to face her.

 

“It doesn’t feel that way sometimes. So many people only knew us as a unit. Even now, there are so many people who are surprised that it’s just me when they come to the shop, even though I know they know he’s dead. He was the more forward one, the voice for the two of us.” He slumped slightly, the pain obvious in his voice.

 

“I’ve always thought of you as separate people. You were George, he was Fred, and together you were twice the menace…” she teased, trying to pull him back out of his sadness.

 

“You’re just saying that. Mum didn’t even think of us as separate people much of the time.” He grumbled.

 

“I know that’s not true. As much as she played at mixing you up, she knew which of you was which. She is your mum, she knows you better than you think. And she could tell you apart before you lost your ear, so don’t go saying she could only tell you apart in the end.” She scolded him playfully when he tried to interrupt, taking him by the wrist and dragging him toward the water’s edge.

 

“To me, you’ve always been distinctive people. He may have been the one to give me the bruise paste to try and clear the shiner I got in your shop, but it was you that sent an owl asking after me a couple days later. You danced with me at Bill’s wedding when I needed a break from Ron and Viktor. When the dust had settled and I was first having second thoughts about your brother, you sat with me at the Leaky and carried me home when I’d had too much to drink even though you had your own troubles to work through. Fred wouldn’t have done that much for me, he liked me just fine, but not enough to give up his own good time for me.” She shivered slightly as the cold water touched her toes, glancing out at the mostly calm water before catching his eyes again.

 

He stared at her for a moment, unsure of how to respond. Her eyes shining in the gathering moonlight and suddenly he forgot why they’d been speaking at all, lost in the whiskey coloured depths of them. She stared back, unafraid of the intensity of his focus. She watched as his face moved through a series of micro-emotions, before finally landing on something like acceptance.

 

“I suppose I should just trust you.” He finally spoke, barely a whisper over the sound of the surf.

 

“Perhaps you should. I’ve no reason to lie to you…” she started walking again, breaking the prolonged eye contact. He followed alongside her, neither of them speaking again as they made their way further down the shore.

 

There was something companionable in the silence, the awkwardness they both expected never coming. Sometimes they’d separate a bit and one would wade a little deeper into the water or venture up onto the dry sand. She might link her arm through his as they went along or he’d offer it to her when they fell into sync. The quiet wasn’t so bad when they weren’t alone.

 

Hermione wasn’t sure how long they’d really been walking for, but she did know they were no longer within the safety of her own wards, having felt the sensation of exiting them some ways back. Being too far from the bit of beach that was exclusively hers always made her nervous.

 

“We should head back, we aren’t on my beach anymore…” she spoke, nudging him to break his train of thought.

 

“I felt us leave them twenty minutes ago or so. You comfortable walking back?” He asked, reading the concern on her features.

 

“I really would rather apparate if that’s alright… I don’t like being on the parts of the beach that aren’t mine. Some parts are private beaches and some aren’t…” she swallowed as she glanced around in the dark, unsure where exactly they were.

 

“You keep your cottage really heavily warded I noticed.” He pressed.

 

“I do. I never broke that habit either. Though it’s come in handy any time a reporter tries to get near the property. It’s also a bit of an added comfort, I do live alone out here.” She explained.

 

“Why is that, exactly? I know you didn’t want to live with Ron anymore, but why didn’t you get a flatmate?” He cocked his head at her as he watched her grimace at the question.

 

“I’ve never been overly fond of having flatmates. Didn’t much enjoy it in school, living in a tent with Harry and Ron didn’t help matters. I’d much rather be on my own than with another person.” She did not notice the small frown that played at his lips with her response.

 

They continued along in silence again for a few minutes to make sure they were clear of any other cottages, with a soft “pop” they disappeared and reappeared on her back deck.

 

“I suppose you’ll be heading to bed?” George cleared his throat when she sat to brush the sand off her feet.

 

“I don’t have to if you fancy a bit more company. I know I haven’t exactly when as chatty as I think you’d hoped…” she said guiltily.

 

“No, not at all! It was quite nice to have quiet company for a little while. Doesn’t happen often in my line of work. Actually, I was thinking I might read out here for a bit, the moonlight is good for it. And you do have that hammock…” he nodded toward the object in question.

 

“Mind if I join you?” She asked cautiously as she headed back into the cottage.

 

“Not at all.” He smiled after her, ducking in to collect his book from his suitcase.

 

When she returned they settled side by side in the hammock, just barely managing to give one another the semblance of personal space. He couldn’t help but notice the novel she was reading was one he’d recommended. She cast a charm that created something akin to fairy lights above them, helping to lend a little more illumination to the pages. As the night wore on he tried to ignore her stifled yawns, knowing she must only be staying up further to keep him company. He was surprised but said nothing, when she shifted slighting closer and leaned her head on his shoulder. He leaned further back into the hammock, nearly toppling them as he shifted from seated to lying down.

 

“Oh!” she laughed as she just barely kept herself from falling to the ground.

 

“Sorry, ‘Mione, I was thinking it might be a little more comfortable to stretch out. I hadn’t considered that hammocks aren’t conducive to sudden movements…” his cheeks flushed slightly.

 

“It’s alright.” She soothed, settling in next to him by tucking herself into his side. She returned to her book as if nothing had happened, not acknowledging their much closer positions. He hoped she couldn’t hear the hammering of his heart with her head so close to it.

 

When he next glanced down he found her asleep, her book resting lightly on his chest. He agonized over whether or not to wake her and move them inside. It wasn’t too terribly cold, and he could always summon a blanket… He sighed and let his selfishness win out when she unconsciously nuzzled into his side, he’d wanted this kind of closeness with her long enough that he’d take it in whatever way he could get it. He quietly accioed a blanket and settled it over the two of them, drifting into sleep with one arm securely keeping her to his side.

 

* * *

 

 

Hermione stirred with a soft sound of contentment as she felt the warmth next to her and the smell of something decidedly masculine tickled her nose. She cuddled closer into the warm thing, wondering belatedly what it might be as her mind registered it was much too large to be her cat. Her eyes fluttered open and she was shocked to find herself outside and not in her bedroom. She froze slightly, noting that the warm thing next to her was not Crookshanks. No, the warm, masculine scented thing next to her was George. The man was sleeping soundly still, his chest rising and falling steadily. She chewed on her bottom lip as she weighed her options. She didn’t want to wake him, but she also wasn’t sure how she felt about waking up next to him like this. Her mind was a whirlwind as contradictory thoughts flitted through her consciousness. It was interrupted rather suddenly by a slight tightening of his arm around her, which she hadn’t noticed until then. She stilled her breathing and tipped her head up to see his features knit in some level of concern, clearly in the midst of a nightmare. She carefully laid her head back on his chest and reached an arm over to gently grasp his free hand, loosening its fearful grip on the blanket. She was relieved when he instantly relaxed and let her thread her fingers through his. She couldn’t begrudge him an easy rest, knowing well enough it came so rarely for either of them. With a soft sigh, she closed her eyes and went back to sleep, her desire to see him happy overruling her sense of propriety.

 

She woke again a few hours later to the distinctive ruffle of feathers above her head that meant Emilia was impatiently waiting with a letter. She was not so careful to rise this time, noting by the look of the sky that it was late enough in the morning that they should probably be rising anyway.

 

“George…” she nudged him gently as she tried to disentangle herself from his hold, her voice gravelly.

 

“Hmmm…” he blinked awake, smiling at the sight of her next to him. She flushed at his reaction, she’d expected him to startle and shove her away.

 

Her breathing quickened when he sleepily brushed the hair from her face and turned so their faces aligned.

 

“This is a lovely dream…” he murmured, continuing to run his fingers through her curls.

“It’s not a dream, George…” she breathed, voice shaky when he ran his fingers over her lips. She could see the moment he woke completely and she came into focus.

“Hermione?” he swallowed hard, realising that she wasn’t a dream and she really was mere centimetres away.

“Kiss me,” she shifted closer to him, her voice barely above a whisper.

“What?” He whispered back, eyes going wide.

“Kiss me,” she whispered again, her voice trembling.

He complied without delay this time, tangling his fingers in her hair the way he’d been dying to since the night before. Her lips were soft and warm against his, following his lead as he drank her in. He ran the tip of his tongue tentatively across her bottom lip, not expecting to be allowed entry. She sighed and wrapped her arms around his neck, massaging her tongue against his to his great delight. It wasn’t long before they were a tangle of limbs and soft noises. His lips moved to her ear and neck, gently kissing and running along the skin and sending shivers down her spine.

“George…” she moaned, sending a jolt straight to his cock and making him press against her.

“Merlin Hermione…” he groaned, fighting the urge to rip her clothes off.

“George…” she struggled to catch her breath, setting a hand gently on his chest to still him.

“Do you want me to stop?” He froze, afraid he’d pushed too far.

“No. Yes.” She groaned as the debate continued in her head.

“I uh… I need a clearer answer than that, love.” He laughed nervously.

“I really, really, don’t want to stop…” Before she could finish Emilia ruffled her feathers angrily and pecked against the glass of the doors. She was irritated at having been kept waiting.

 

“I take it we have to let her in?” George chuckled.

 

“Unfortunately, yes. She’ll be wanting a treat.” Hermione groaned and disentangled herself from him again, stealing another kiss as she made to stand.

 

“Anything important?” he asked when she’d taken the letter from the owl and let her inside to her treat bowl.

 

“It’s from your brother and sister-in-law reminding us that we promised to have tea with them today. It also has a lengthy update on what to expect. Victoire is showing signs of accidental magic and it’s causing a bit of havoc around Shell Cottage.” She giggled brightly.

 

“Cor! She’s nearly blown up the kitchen! Fleur must be beside herself, it’s hard enough keeping Bill in line…” George chuckled, resting his chin on her shoulder as he sidled up behind her and wrapped his arms around her to read along with her.

 

“George…” she warned as his lips found her neck again and he plucked the letter from her hands.

 

“I’ve been waiting weeks for this, Hermione. I know I said I thought I was beginning to fancy you, but that may have been a bit of a lie…”

 

“Ohh?” she moaned when he latched onto her neck and marked her.

 

“Mmm hmm. I’ve fancied you forever. Since school, really. I was afraid I’d scare you off last night and I’d only just got here…” he explained into her skin, kissing and licking carefully.

 

“George… this is moving too fast for me.” She admitted, carefully releasing his arms from around her.

 

“I haven’t upset you have I? I didn’t mean…” he flustered, cheeks and ears going red.

 

“No, no, no, no… I just need more time before we get much further than a little snogging.” She took his face in her hands and kissed him gently, pulling back slowly with a soft smile.

 

“So long as I haven’t made you cross with me.” He smiled at her as she made her way out of the room.

 

“I can promise you, George Weasley, if you’d snogged me when I didn’t want you to I would have hexed your bollocks off…” she laughed. He swallowed nervously as he realised she wasn’t joking.

  
  



	4. Unwind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I’m home! Quick and lightly smutty update. There will be a longer update this week as well after I've settled back in. Title from P!nk.
> 
>  
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own or profit from Harry Potter or its related properties.

 

 

**Unwind**

 

Hermione carefully closed her door behind her when she reached her room, her heart pounding like a jackrabbit trying to escape a predator. This was most definitely not how she expected to be spending her weekend. Not that she was at all complaining… No, it was quite the opposite really. The second their lips touched she saw images of what her life could be. She wasn’t totally unhappy with what she had now, but the chaos he caused in her blood promised more and better things if she only let him in. She counted to ten and caught her breath, trying not to dwell on the softness of his lips or the surprisingly sweet taste of his tongue. The man could snog like no one else in her limited experience. He was something else entirely… She shook her head hard to try and rid herself of the thoughts again, knowing she had two more days with the man to figure out what the hell she was going to do with him.

 

“Bollocks.” She whispered under her breath, unsettled by his confession that he’d fancied her much longer than she ever could have dreamed. She was going to have to be careful here, she didn’t want to hurt him. She also didn’t want to hurt herself, knowing all too well the ways in which she was capable of self-sabotage when her own happiness was at stake. No, she would need to be cautious. No more sudden snogging sessions. She needed to be thinking with her mind, not her libido if they were going to navigate this.

 

Across the hall, George was having an equally difficult time trying to collect himself. He was wound up with no obvious outlet that didn’t involve a quick toss, the thought of which was vaguely horrifying. It’d been a long time since he’d been unable to shake a witch’s touch from his mind by just considering Aunt Muriel or his mother lecturing him on being a proper gentleman. No, today a cold shower was likely in order unless he wanted to risk her catching his wanking it in her guest room. With a frustrated sigh, he gathered his toiletry kit and made his way to the hall bath.

 

“Oh!” Hermione startled at the sight of George clad only with a towel around his waist in her hallway.

 

“Sorry, I should have asked first.” He clung to the towel with one hand, trying not to drop it when her little shout made him jump.

 

“No, no… by all means! I was only coming to see if you wanted to make use of it anyway…” she flustered, her cheeks and chest flushing in embarrassment.

 

“Cheers then,” he responded nervously, ducking quickly into the bathroom and locking it behind him.

“Double bollocks…” she muttered, scurrying back into her room and locking the door behind her. She was sweaty and worked up now, he’d been fitter than she expected. And the thought of him naked and wet just through the wall…

 

“Stop it, Hermione. If you keep on like this you won’t be able to get it together.” She chastised herself, breathing a sigh of relief when she heard the water start. She was not, however, expecting the groan that followed it.

 

“Oh for pity’s sake…” she whined, the sound sending a zing straight to her knickers. She shuffled uncomfortably, there was almost no way she was getting out of this situation without getting off first.

 

She chewed her bottom lip nervously, debating her options. Pushing the sight of him, the noise of his obvious wanking coming through her paper thin walls, and the fire he’d already lit in her belly out of mind was not likely to happen at this rate. She was going to have to do something about it. The low moans coming from the other side of the wall making her progressively more frustrated.

 

“Oh forget it, it’s not like he can walk in on me.” She stripped on the spot, tossing her slept in clothing into the hamper and climbing onto her bed. The little bit of extra distance from this side of the room made it harder to hear him, but she imagined he was still pumping away in there likely thinking of all the delicious things he wanted to do with her.

 

She let her hands explore her body as she tingled with sensation he’d long since started. She massaged and groped at herself, stopping to tug at her nipples as she ran her hands down her body to her spread legs. She didn’t teaser herself this time, circling her clit almost as soon as her fingers made contact. She gasped at how sensitive she truly was, it had been years since she was this turned on. She imagined George in the room with her, kissing and licking as he explored her skin. She pictured him nesting between her thighs and teasing her with his tongue, relishing the act. She didn’t have it in her to take the illusion much further, cresting over the edge in a rush. As she shook and cried out her completion she spared no thought to the real George in the next room who thought he’d imagined the sound of her voice as he finished in the downpour of her shower.


	5. Damage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: This week was rough. The 18th was my birthday and I wanted to get updates out on everything to celebrate, this one got posted a little late. Just something to tide us over while I work on things… Title is from Jimmy Eat World
> 
>  
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own or profit from Harry Potter or its related properties.

 

 

**Damage**

 

Hermione took slow, even breaths as she came back down to earth. A quick release was most definitely what she had needed to be able to get on with her day. With a sigh, she rolled back onto her feet and dressed herself. She considered a few different options, knowing it was likely Victoire would dirty whatever she chose with her perpetually sticky fingers. She smirked a little, knowing Fleur was constantly exasperated at how her daughter came to be covered in so much muck. She chose a pair of jeans she knew made her bum look good, hoping George would notice, and a plain black tee shirt under a plain black jumper. Simplicity was sometimes the best way to go she decided, slipping into her trainers and making her way to the kitchen once she heard the guest bedroom door click closed.

 

She started a pot of coffee and poked around for something to make for breakfast, realising belatedly that she had never actually solved the problem of not having food in the house. She rubbed the back of her neck in frustration, her mother would be ashamed of what a poor host she was. Molly Weasley would definitely not be impressed.

 

“Everything alright?” George asked, leaning against the same counter as he had the night before.

 

“I neglected to put much food in the house I’m afraid… how do you fancy a coffee to go and a quick trip to the shops?” She asked, blushing slightly when she finally caught sight of him. His hair was damp and ruffled, the first few buttons on his blue button-down undone and untucked from his jeans. She swallowed and tried not to blush when he smirked, catching her giving him the once over.

 

“I think we’ll have to if we want to eat. Unless you want to wait until tea with Bill and Fleur… but I don’t know about you, I’m hungry.” He laughed, quickly looking her up and down.

 

“You want to wait for this thing to finish or just pick up something overpriced while we’re out?” She jutted a thumb at the barely started coffee maker.

 

“Let’s just go with overpriced and promise to not eat out tomorrow…” George laughed, waving his wand to shut off the machine.

 

“Let’s get moving then.” Hermione laughed, giving him a moment to collect his coat before twisting them away.

 

The coffee shop was fairly empty as it pushed into the late morning. Coffees in hand, they settled into a table outside, enjoying the bit of warm sunshine peeking through the overcast day.

 

“No cream or sugar?” George raised a brow at her as she sipped at the black brew carefully, trying not to scald herself.

 

“No. You?” She shook her head lightly.

 

“Not usually. When Fred made it, then yes. He always made it too weak.” He shrugged, taking a hesitant swallow from his own steaming mug.

 

“You must really miss him,” Hermione said gently, reaching out to hold one of his hands with a sad smile.

 

“Every day,” George admitted, squeezing her hand back.

 

“I can’t imagine what it’s like…”

 

“You obliviated your parents and couldn’t get them back. I can’t imagine what that’s like. We all have our tragedies, Hermione. Mine is nothing special.” George shrugged.

 

“Doesn’t make it any less though, does it?” She arched her brows at him pointedly. He sighed and shook his head at her with a half-hearted laugh, pulling his hand back to tear into his muffin.

 

“We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but if you do… I’ll listen.” Hermione pressed, taking a large bite of her croissant.

 

“So much of who I am… who I was… was wrapped up in being one half of something bigger. Without Fred, I don’t know who I am. Not really. I feel as if I’m constantly auditioning new versions of myself, trying to get it right… to fill the void he left. But the truth is, it’s not something that can be filled. It’s just something that exists now, a slight emptiness at the edges of everything. The only thing that makes me feel less… ‘less’, I suppose is really the right word… is drinking. But that version of me? It doesn’t work. That George is good for a little while, then he’s just a nuisance and someone to be pitied. I just don’t know sometimes, Hermione. Who am I really with him gone?” he sighed heavily, the weight of the world seeming to push down on his shoulders and make him look so much smaller than he really was.

 

“You’re George Fabian Weasley. Son, brother, and yes, twin. Human bludger, mischief maker, prankster, and entrepreneur. You have one of the loudest and distinctive ways of apparating I’ve ever seen. You’re an amazing flyer and Quidditch strategist, not that you got to show it off much… You have one of the keenest minds for invention, exceeding where others could only dream to go. You’re kind to most, but aggravating to Percy and whoever else needs taking down a peg. You’re generous and a man of your word. You’re protective of Ginny and, I think secretly, Ron too. You’re quiet and gentle, but also a little vindictive when you want to be. You’re a dab hand at charms and herbology. Better at potions that you’ll admit, and the better of the two of you at transfiguration. You’re an excellent duelist and more than passably knowledgeable at defence. And once, not so long ago, you considered yourself ‘holey’. And that’s before I even consider how handsome and strong you are, how your smile is as brilliant as your mind, or that you’re one hell of a good snog…” Hermione rattled off, ticking off the points on her fingers and flushing as she reached the end.

 

“Did you just… I can’t believe… did you memorise my life history?” He stared at her in awe, shaking his head slightly.

 

“I just notice things. And you, George Weasley, or Gred, or Georgie, or Tentacula, or whatever it is you feel like being called today, are a full and amazing human without your twin. You are not one half of some other whole. The two of you balanced one another, whether you realised it or not.” She explained, sipping her coffee.

 

“Hermione, I have no words…” George sat back in his seat, dumbstruck at her sudden, but seemingly well thought out, depiction of who he was.

 

“That’s bollocks. You have them, I know you do because I’ve saved every letter you’ve sent me and they’re eloquent and well thought out. You just don’t know what words to use yet.” She smiled at him, reaching over and peeling his hand away from his mug to give it a firm squeeze.   
  
“You’re so much more than you think you are, George. And I’m amazed by the magic of you.” She spoke softly, heart pounding in her chest for reasons she couldn’t quite suss out. He stared at her for a long moment, unsure of how to react.   
  
As the fog cleared from his mind, he leaned in and kissed her; the act as natural as breathing.


End file.
